


reflection

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23783959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: There’s no greater feeling than Baz beneath me, his chest rising and falling under my palms, or his lips parting against mine. Not even magic could compare to the rush I get when he breathes out a soft sigh into the air between us, or a moan slips from his throat. (He tries not to do that, I can tell when he’s trying to be quiet, but I haven’t figured out how to tell him that I like hearing him.) I feel empowered when I’m snogging the sense out of Baz, like I have a purpose and it’s to make him feel good.--AKA, The One Where They Finally Get Off Together
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 18
Kudos: 258





	reflection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/gifts).



> This was written as part of a fic giveaway I did, I chose four lucky winners to give me a prompt and I would write whatever their heart desired. Thanks to the state of the world, these are taking a bit longer to get out than I'd hoped, _but_ we're getting through ‘em. So, enjoy some good quarantine smut. 
> 
> This fic was written for [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff). 
> 
> So many big thanks to [annabellelux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabellelux/pseuds/annabellelux) for beta-reading this one for me!

**SIMON**

There’s no greater feeling than Baz beneath me, his chest rising and falling under my palms, or his lips parting against mine. Not even magic could compare to the rush I get when he breathes out a soft sigh into the air between us, or a moan slips from his throat. (He tries not to do that, I can tell when he’s trying to be quiet, but I haven’t figured out how to tell him that I  _ like  _ hearing him.) I feel empowered when I’m snogging the sense out of Baz, like I have a purpose and it’s to make him feel  _ good _ .

And I’m good at making him feel good, even when I find myself questioning if he’s only with me out of some weird honor thing or guilt, there are some things too involuntary to fake. Like the way his hips press against me as I nip at his neck, and I can feel him against my thigh and while part of me’s freaked out there’s another part that’s…  _ proud _ , because I’ve done that to him. 

Sometimes the part that’s freaked wins out, though. Not always immediately. Sometimes I have to stop here, when I feel him against me and realize what that means and what comes next and I feel my chest getting tight and my adrenaline spike at the  _ thought… _

But not always. Sometimes I can press that down, and then press  _ myself  _ down, until Baz whimpers in my ear and his hands claw at my arms. I’m okay with him holding onto my arms. 

Sometimes I can reach a hand down, brush against the bulge in his trousers, feel the heat of him through the layers against my palm and watch his brow furrow and his eyes squeeze shut and his face twist up in pleasure as I stroke him through his clothes. Because  _ I can do that _ , and make him look like that,  _ sound  _ like that. 

Once we’ve made it all the way, for him at least. I managed to clear my mind and divert all focus to  _ Baz _ and Baz’s  _ cock _ , and making Baz feel  _ good _ because that’s all I’m good for. (He says that’s not true, but I think I’m okay if it is. For now, at least.) He came in his pants and it was the most glorious thing I’d ever seen, him losing control like that. It wasn’t like he went feral or anything, but he couldn’t hold back his sounds as much, and he wasn’t trying to school his expression to something stoic or passive. He let go for once, and I let him. I made him feel like he could, and that felt good. 

This is as far as we usually make it, though. Because that time was amazing, but… then I want him to touch me, and the  _ thought… _

“Simon,” Baz breathes. I raise my eyes back to his face and find concern there, because of course he is. Concerned. He always catches it, the moment I… think about it. My hand stills as he watches me, and I try to breathe, push it away,  _ something _ . I used to be so good at not thinking, but I’ve even lost that skill, apparently. There’s too much to think about all the time, and I just want to  _ stop.  _

I want to be able to let Baz do that for me. What I did for him that time, how he seemed to just stop thinking or analyzing or doing anything but  _ feeling _ . And not just selfishly, although my cock is throbbing in my pants, but I also know Baz wants that, too. He’s said as much, we’ve talked about it. Or, we’ve tried. The conversations about sex go about as well as the sex itself, but at least what we’ve landed on is Baz wants to have sex with me. 

I breathe in through my nose and focus on him, the way his eyelids dip when I move my hand again, concern being all but washed away from his face as it twists with pleasure. 

“Touch me.” I almost don’t hear it myself, but Baz does. (Vampire hearing.) His eyes snap back into focus, he watches me, but he doesn’t  _ do  _ anything. He’s  _ thinking _ , and neither of us need to be doing that. I shift, sit back on my heels and reach for his hand with my free one. Baz’s eyes are wide as I place his hand over me, his touch hesitant, but he eventually strokes me and it feels so  _ good _ .

I try not to panic. 

It makes no sense to panic, it feels good and I  _ want _ this. But Baz’s hesitance ebbs, he’s doing exactly what I’ve been doing to him and I feel myself slipping and — 

I jerk away from him, catching us both by surprise. He looks like he’s been shocked or electrocuted, or something worse — he looks  _ afraid.  _

I groan (not in the sexy way) and fall onto the mattress next to him.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I cover my face with my hands. 

“It’s okay,” Baz breathes. (Again, not in the sexy way.) 

“It’s  _ not _ ,” I argue, and I hear Baz take in a breath to fight back, tell me it is, but I keep going before he can. “I don’t — I  _ want  _ this, I want you, I just —  _ Fuck _ .”

“Yes, that’s the general idea.” 

“ _ Baz _ .”

“What is it? What’s… what’s the trigger? Is it — is it me?” 

I turn my head to look at him,  _ he can’t be serious, can he?  _

“Of course not.” 

“But it’s me  _ touching _ you?”

I sigh. “I — I guess.” 

“Is it just me touching you...  _ intimately _ ?”

“I — Fuck, Baz, I don’t know — I wanted to have sex, not answer a bloody  _ questionnaire _ .”

“That’s going to be hard to do when you won’t tell me what the bleeding hell I’m doing wrong here, Snow.” 

“You’re not doing anything  _ wrong _ , Baz, I just —  _ Fuck _ , I don’t — Merlin, never mind.  _ Forget it. _ ” 

I turn my back to him, trying not to huff in my frustration but I do it anyway. I don’t  _ know _ what’s wrong, I don’t understand this any more than he does, I just… I just know that when he touches me it feels… tight. It feels hot in all the bad ways, it feels like I can’t catch my breath and I’ll never be able to again. It feels like someone’s draped a wet blanket over my entire body, and it weighs more than I do, and it’s somehow crushing me from the inside out. 

And then it feels  _ bad _ , because having your boyfriend’s hand on your dick shouldn’t make you feel that way. I feel guilty because I can’t just let us have  _ this _ . I feel overwhelmed because I’m afraid I’ll never make it past this, and we’ll never actually have sex, and Baz is going to get tired of me because I can’t keep him happy. And by then panic has fully set it and it’s over. 

But I can’t just  _ say  _ all of that, can I? I don’t think I’d be able to get through a sentence without choking up or losing my nerve to speak all together. 

Baz doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I’m afraid that I’ve completely fucked it all up. But then —

“Can you masturbate?” 

“ _ What _ ?”

**BAZ**

Snow looks at me over his shoulder, which is a bit of progress at least. He looks well scandalized by the question, but I press on anyway. It’s always going to be uncomfortable at first.

“Can you touch yourself? Get yourself off? Or is it something you can do… at all?” 

I swear I can feel Snow’s blush from here. He shifts onto his back so he’s at least not facing away from me. I watch him, his eyes are trained on the ceiling. 

“Yes, I can  _ wank _ , Baz. Getting myself off’s not the problem.” 

“What if I… got you off without touching you?”

Snow looks at me now, his brows lifted up ‘til they disappear beneath the curls falling over his forehead. “Don’t get me wrong, Baz, you’re properly fit, but I still need  _ something,  _ you know?” 

I’m still not used to that, the compliments, Snow calling me  _ fit _ without ‘prat’ tacked onto the end or venom on his tongue. I’m still not used to  _ this _ , if I’m honest, lying next to Snow in bed, both of us hard and straining in our pants. Talking about sex, trying to  _ have  _ sex. 

Trying being the operative word. The furthest we’ve come is Snow getting me off once, and it was glorious. The best thing I’ve ever experienced, I’d almost say transcendent, even if I did ruin a good pair of pants. But I know it could be better, I know I’ve still never seen Snow’s face when he comes and that is quite a misfortune. 

I’m not that upset about it, I know this is difficult for him. Even if he can’t explain it to me, I can see the distress in his face, the fear in his eyes, the anxiety in the way he tenses when I touch him. 

But I’ve been thinking, and maybe there’s a solution. At least for now, to start with. To break past the wall of intimacy, to at least get both of us off.  _ Together _ . 

“Take your trousers off, Snow.” 

“ _ What _ ?”

I reach down to unbutton my own jeans in answer, pushing them down my hips and shimmying my way out of them. It’s not as graceful as I try to be, blasted skinny jeans, but it must get the point across. After a brief moment of hesitation, Snow slides his trackie bottoms down his legs and tosses them off the side of the bed. 

“What if we just touch ourselves?” 

“What, like wank off together?” 

I’ve settled back against the pillows, but Snow’s still sat upright, staring at me in confusion. 

“Essentially.” I meet his eyes as I answer and slowly run my hand from my shoulder down my body. He’s distracted by the movement,  _ good _ . “Except, I want you to copy me.”

“Copy?” He asks again, and I’m not sure if he’s just distracted or actually exceedingly thick. Either way, I pat the space on the bed next to me. 

“Yes. Lay down.” 

He does and he keeps his eyes on my hand. I bring it back up to my shoulder, pulling my shirt up with it, and not moving until he lifts his same hand (and shirt) to the same. 

“I won’t touch you,” I say, using just my fingertips to trail down my chest, just shy of my nipple. “But I’ll show you how I’d like to, on myself, and you mirror it.” 

I pinch my nipple and satisfy in the gasp that leaves Snow as he does the same. I thought he’d enjoy that. I spend a little more time here, rolling the nub between my fingers and wondering how it’d feel to take his between my lips. When he whimpers I imagine it’s because I just scraped my teeth over the sensitive flesh. 

Moving to place the same attention to the other side, I let my free hand cup myself in my pants. Snow lets out a soft sound as he does the same, and I have to remind myself that this is for  _ him _ just so I don’t skip right to getting myself off. Hearing him,  _ seeing  _ him touch himself, it almost does me in all on its own. When I look at him his eyes are trained on the hand over my cock, so I recentre my focus down there.

I trail over the bulge in my pants, teasing, sending a shiver down my own spine. I don’t want to push him, or make him uncomfortable. I don’t know what’s going on in his head, and he doesn’t know how to tell me. I just want to make him feel good, so I watch him as he copies the teasing touch over his own cock, watch for the familiar shift that signals the end of our intimacy. Instead I see his hips thrust against his hand, hear a quiet whine escape his throat, and if it weren’t for my supernatural hearing I may have missed the whispered “ _ Baz _ ” on his breath. 

Good. This seems to be working. 

**SIMON**

He’s trying to kill me. 

I’ve never done this, never been so… gentle with myself. Or so slow. I don’t typically take my time when I wank, but of course it makes sense to think that this is how Baz does it all the time.

_ “I won’t touch you, but I’ll show you how I want to, on myself.”  _

No, this isn’t just Baz wanking. This is how he’d be touching me right now, if we could, and so I try to let myself imagine that he  _ is.  _ I’ve no problem  _ fantasizing  _ about Baz touching me, why can’t I just let him  _ do it _ ? 

The thought disappears as Baz stops moving his hand. My eyes flick back up to his face to find him watching me, and I feel my neck and chest heat up. Then I clock movement below his waist again and look back down, follow Baz’s hands as he slips his pants down his hips. I do the same. 

And I take a moment to appreciate Baz’s cock, realizing this is the first time I’ve  _ seen _ it, before his long fingers are wrapping around it. How is it every part of him is long, elegant, and beautiful? His legs, his hands, his cock, his entire fucking  _ body _ . It should be illegal. 

He gives himself one long stroke and I do the same, the idea of it being Baz making it feel that much better. The idea that Baz  _ wants _ it to be him.  _ I do, too _ . 

I think, for a moment, that maybe after this it’ll be better. But then I think that there’s no way a one-time wank is going to fix anything. And then, I try to stop thinking at all. 

I focus instead on Baz, on Baz’s hand and the way he’s pulling at himself, and making sure that I’m copying his movements  _ exactly _ . 

_ “I’ll show you how I want to…” _

_ Fuck.  _ Heat is pooling low in my belly, and I’m trying not to rock up into my hand, but the addition of Baz’s presence and Baz’s  _ control  _ has made this the most erotic wank session of my  _ life _ . 

_ Control _ , that’s what it’s about. Maybe not entirely. But letting Baz touch me is giving up control. I wouldn’t ordinarily consider myself a control freak, but maybe some part of me hasn’t moved past the  _ enemies _ phase of our relationship. Or maybe I’m just properly terrified of intimacy, full stop. I never made it far at all with Agatha, we hardly did more than snogged. I cupped her breast once, and it was an accident, and  _ I don’t want to think about Agatha right now _ . 

Baz’s whimper cuts through my thoughts and he’s still watching me. Watching me watch him. 

We make eye contact and I feel like I’m going to explode at any second. It’s sexy as hell, the way he can make me feel this way by only touching himself. He looks good like this, spread out along the bed next to me, his long legs bent and falling open as he works his hand between them. He picks up pace and I match him, try not to be embarrassed as a moan rips its way out of me. 

“ _ Simon _ ,” he breathes, and I know I’m as good as done. 

**BAZ**

“Kiss me.” 

I slow my hand — and Snow whines as he does, too — to look at him. 

“You’re copying me here, Snow.”

He growls, curls his lip at me and all. “Fuck, Baz, I’m so close, just kiss me. Keep going and  _ kiss me _ .” 

_ He’s close _ . 

I stop my movements entirely and he  _ whines _ . “Baz,  _ please _ .” 

“I want to see your face.” 

“You bloody well can see my face.” He huffs. 

“I want to see your face when you  _ come _ .” 

“ _ Oh. _ ” He blinks up at me. “Then get on with it already.” 

I do. 

His head lolls onto his shoulder as he watches my hand, his stupid, long, showy neck stretched out deliciously. I want to lean over and bite it. 

He only gets louder as he gets closer, cut off groans and huffed breaths and my name mixed in there somewhere. 

Every goddamn thing Simon Snow does is a production, even his orgasms. His thighs tense and his abdominals twitch, he’s pushing his hips into his hand with little rocking motions, and his face is so gloriously twisted with pleasure. I’m about to tell him to open his eyes, to watch me, but then he’s gasping and pushing back into the mattress and coming across his hand and stomach. 

I lean over and catch his lips with mine, swallow the quiet whimpers that leave him as I work myself over that edge, too. 

He’s looking at me when my lashes flutter open again, something curious and wistful in his unremarkable blue eyes. 

“That was brilliant,” he says, then kisses me again. And again. He’s about to roll onto me when I push at his shoulders. 

“Snow, you’re a mess.” I gesture to his stomach, where his come is still streaked across his skin. (I don’t bother acknowledging that I’m in the same boat.) He follows my line of sight and considers for a moment, before reaching for a shirt that had been discarded earlier and swiping it over the mess like a complete monster. “ _ Simon! _ ”

“Shut up, fairly sure it’s mine. Just want you to kiss me.” He says, dipping his head back down to catch my lips. He makes a very compelling argument, and against my better judgement I let him do the same to me before collapsing into me and snogging me until we’re both too exhausted to move. 

I recognize my mistake the next morning when it turns out it was  _ not _ his shirt, but then he’s chiming in with how he’s thought about sucking me off and —

He’s going to be the death of me, but a pleasant death it’ll be. There’s no feeling greater than having Simon Snow on top of me, even at the expense of my wardrobe. 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @pipsqueakparker, who knows when i'll lose my mind and do another giveaway


End file.
